


Emergency Practice

by thirstyhoeathoedotcom



Category: Whiplash (2014)
Genre: Ass Play, Ass to Mouth, M/M, Object Insertion, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3239510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirstyhoeathoedotcom/pseuds/thirstyhoeathoedotcom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fletcher emails Andrew for a last-minute practice at 1 A.M. What could this bastard want so late at night?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergency Practice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tumblr user martinscorsesegay](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tumblr+user+martinscorsesegay), [tumblr user whiptrash](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=tumblr+user+whiptrash).



Andrew was startled awake by the vibration of his phone on his nightstand. He picked up his phone and hastily dimmed the brightness to avoid hurting his bloodshot eyes even more. New email from Fletcher, ugh.

**Neiman,**   
**Emergency practice. Come to the practice room now. Bring your own sticks.**

“At one in the fucking morning?” Andrew groaned aloud to himself.

Andrew slid out of bed and stepped into a pair of jeans and a red T-shirt that he had left on the floor before climbing into bed earlier.

“Fuck,” he whispered as his raw left hand rubbed up against the roughness of his jeans.

Fletcher had really been working him hard lately. Andrew had been working his ass off to impress him. Even if that meant practicing at every possible free window of time and soaking his hands in ice water between sessions. Andrew would do anything to be one of The Greats.

He slipped on his sneakers, grabbed his folder, and walked out into the hallway.

“Shit,” Andrew mumbled to himself. He had forgotten his sticks. He jogged back to his room and shoved the two beige drumsticks in his back pocket. Imagine if he showed up to the practice room without them. Fletcher would probably kick him out of core for a stupid mistake like that.

On the walk to the practice room, Andrew wondered why the hell Fletcher would want him to practice at one in the morning. He ran possible scenarios through his head. Maybe he wanted to give him some new pieces to work on before the rest of the ensemble got to see them (not likely). Or maybe he wanted to scream at him uninterrupted in a room with perfect acoustics (slightly more likely). Whatever Fletcher’s agenda is, it must be really important. He doesn’t take practice lightly, and he certainly doesn’t set up practices if they’re not absolutely essential to the integrity of the ensemble.

Andrew turned the knob on the band hall door and stepped into the familiar room. Fletcher was waiting for him at by his drums. Why weren’t any of his ensemble members here?

“Neiman. Get over here.” Fletcher barked.

“Um…where’s the rest of the band? I thought this was a group practice?”

Fletcher crossed his arms and adjusted the drum stool, “Not that kind of practice. Sit down.”

“Do you mind if I ask why you called me in so late? No offense, but this doesn’t seem like an emergency situation,” Andrew said hoarsely. His voice still sounded a little sleepy, and his eyes were red and strained.

“You’ll see in a minute. Patience, Neiman.”

Andrew gave up on trying to dig more information out of Fletcher. Whatever. He needed to suck up if he wanted to make it at Shaffer. He sat down at the stool and opened his folder in the music stand.

“Whiplash. Start on my mark.”

Andrew started to groan but masked it with a cough before Fletcher could yell at him for being apathetic. He needed this. He needed to show Fletcher that he was capable of this. Even though Andrew hadn’t known Fletcher for very long, he had a strong desire to make him proud.

Andrew positioned his sticks and started on Fletcher’s cue.

About ten seconds in, Fletcher waved his hands to signal Andrew to stop playing. He looked frustrated. Andrew started getting nervous. “Don’t fuck this up,” he thought to himself.

“Not quite my tempo,” Fletcher shook his head.

“Excuse me, but how am I supposed to match your tempo? As far as I can tell, you’re not keeping tempo.”

Fletcher smiled to himself and looked at the ground for a few moments. He grabbed an extra stick from a shelf on the wall and walked behind Neiman.

“Here, let’s try this. Start on my mark.”

Why was Fletcher standing behind him now? Too tired to ask more questions, Andrew waited for his cue and started pounding his drums again. This time, Fletcher was standing behind him, tapping the extra stick on his back. Fletcher was keeping tempo on Andrew’s body. “Huh, this is actually helpful,” Andrew thought silently. About twenty seconds in, Fletcher jabbed his back with the drumstick and kicked Andrew’s stool, knocking him off.

“Not my fucking tempo,” he yelled at the back of Andrew’s head.

Startled and embarrassed, Andrew blushed and started to sweat. Fuck, now Fletcher was going to notice and yell at him for being sensitive. He couldn’t help having a reaction like this. Fletcher voice had shaken up his nerves and sent a familiar tingling below his belt.

“You’re blushing like a fucking girl. Get back on that stool and match my goddamn tempo.”

Trying not to blush even harder, Andrew picked himself back up and tried to ignore the arousal that had started to creep into his groin. Something about being completely alone with Fletcher’s emotional intensity was sending him into a state of sexual hunger.

“Let’s try something a little different this time. On my cue.”

Andrew followed his cue and waited to feel the difference. He jumped about three inches forward when he felt Fletcher’s stick slap his left ass cheek. “What the fuck?” Andrew thought to himself, but he kept playing. He’d better not risk getting yelled at again. Obedience would get him far in this world, and it’s never too early to start practicing.

Fletcher continued the tempo with fresh whacks to Andrew’s ass, increasing the force with each beat. Soon his backside would be raw with bright red marks from Fletcher’s powerful stick. Andrew moaned and kept the tempo even. Sweat was starting to drip from his forehead onto the drum kit. His near-arousal had developed into a bulging erection. He could feel his dick rubbing up against the front of his jeans. He closed his eyes and tried not to imagine what Fletcher would say if he noticed his raging hard-on. Fuck, he would really be in for it if Fletcher noticed. Andrew was so deep in thought that he accidentally sent one of his sticks flying across the room when Fletcher screamed in his ear.

“NOT MY FUCKING TEMPO. Jesus Christ, you’re pathetic. Whose dick did you suck to get into this school anyway?” Fletcher looked down at Andrew’s bulge. “And what the fuck is that?”

“Um,” Andrew put his hand over his crotch and scrambled toward the door, “I should go. Sorry for wasting your time.”

“Don’t you fucking dare leave this goddamn room. Get over here, Neiman. I’m sick of playing these games with you.”

“No, you don’t understa--” Andrew was interrupted by Fletcher striding over to the door and slapping his face.

“You. Stool. Now. Don’t fucking make me say it again.” Andrew reluctantly obeyed his instructor. “We’re gonna try something else, okay? Keep up with my tempo.”

This time when Andrew started playing, Fletcher abandoned the extra stick and used his hands on Neiman’s back instead. He started at his shoulders, rubbing out a beat on his skin rather than tapping with the drumstick. Fuck, Andrew could feel himself getting hotter and redder. Fletcher massaged his knuckles down Andrew’s spine and traced his fingers around each of his vertebrae. Andrew could feel himself slowing down, distracted by the electricity that was running from Fletcher’s fingers into his back.

Fletcher didn’t seem to notice Andrew’s sloppy playing. He was too focused on making this kid’s dick bust out of his jeans. Fletcher hummed to himself and slipped a finger into the cleft of Andrew’s ass. Andrew moaned. He could feel his jeans tightening again.

“Alright, that’s it. Stop playing. Get on the fucking ground,” Fletcher yelled into the back of Andrew’s neck.

“What? I need to finish this son--”

“ON THE FUCKING GROUND, NEIMAN.”

Shit. Andrew knew he was in some deep shit this time. He got on all fours and waited for Fletcher to punish him.

Fletcher put a finger to his lips, shut his eyes briefly, and opened them once more to focus intently on Andrew. They had an intense stare-down that felt like it lasted for ten minutes. Andrew was sweating onto the floor and his ass ached where Fletched had smacked him earlier. His dick was still hard in his jeans. Fletcher looked animalistic and desperate for something to satisfy him.

“Sir,” Andrew began.

“What the fuck is it, Neiman?” Fletcher whispered, his face now inches from the back of Andrew’s neck.

“You didn’t ask me down here to practice Whiplash, did you?”

“No, Neiman. Looks like you’re not such an idiot after all.”

Fletcher got down on his knees behind Andrew and pulled the kid’s jeans down just enough to expose his little white ass. It was pink and splotchy from earlier. He kneeled into the backs of Andrew’s legs and brought his face to his backside. Fletcher circled his tongue around Andrew’s tight pink hole and worked his way inside.

Andrew was shaking like a leaf. He had never felt so exposed and vulnerable before. He moaned and pushed back into Fletcher’s face. He needed Fletcher’s tongue to be as deep inside him as possible.

“Fuck,” Andrew moaned as he arched his back, forcing Fletcher’s tongue in even deeper.

Fletcher pulled his tongue out for a moment and spat into his right hand. He reached around and grabbed Andrew’s dick with his slicked-up hand. Fletcher didn’t waste any time with Andrew. He shoved his tongue back into his ass and rubbed his thumb over the tip of Andrew’s dick to add some precum to the mix. He jerked Andrew off and felt the boy surrender all of his remaining composure. Right as Andrew was heading toward climax, Fletcher let go of him and stretched his arm to reach something on the floor a few feet away.

“I was about to co--,” Andrew started, but his complaint turned into a moan as he felt something cold and hard nudge itself into his asshole. “Fuuuuuuuck.”

Fletcher put his right hand back around Andrew’s slick pink cock and spat onto the drumstick. His tongue had spent enough time preparing Andrew’s little hole for this stick.

“This’ll teach you to match my fucking tempo.”

Andrew pushed back into the tip of the stick and his ass tensed up against the foreign object. He had never imagined fucking a drumstick before, but he’d do anything to make Fletcher proud. Fletcher pumped the stick in and out of Neiman’s ass to the same tempo as his hand stroking Neiman’s dick. He could tell that the boy was really close now.

“Fuck, I think I’m gon--,” Andrew let out a guttural moan and climaxed into Fletcher’s hand as his asshole clenched around the drumstick. He lay on the practice room floor, panting, as his orgasm gradually subsided.

Fletcher slapped Neiman’s ass and smiled.

“Tomorrow. 8 A.M. Don’t forget your sticks.” Fletcher glanced down at the stick that he’d used to fuck Andrew raw. He really doubted that Andrew would forget his sticks after that.


End file.
